A special death
There are special deaths, but only Special people deserve that.
Death comes out of season, said the Great Orator of the Omaha, The Little Elk. We can't prepare for it.
My friend in Southeast Asia had been influenced by her mother, who had been a gentle soul and kind one to boot and had adopted an orphan at birth.
When the child was growing up, it soon became evident that he was autistic. The kind woman showed no difference to him from the two natural female children she has and he grew up in that glow.
An untimely illness took her away and thus began the rocky road, thank god it was brief for the Maharajah of Seri Kembangan, as I had nicknamed him when I met him about 10 years ago.
Like all men-children, they are closer to the creation of God and maintain an innocence beyond our conception and that which we had hastily forgotten many years ago.
My best friend took him in after custody battles and provided him with the best of love and affection which he reciprocated and they included him in many of her social activities with her husband.
To care for him at home while she pursued her postgraduate studies would have been an immense sacrifice, as his beloved nanny also passed away and after much discussion, it was decided for him to live in a shared facility run by some wonderful people.
My best friend and her husband took him out on journeys, spent time with him, he delighted in his cake afternoons.
The season of Covid put an end to a lot of such activities. But their contacts continued to the delight of everyone concerned.
On a recent afternoon he complained of shortness or breath and was taken to the Casualty of the nearest hospital and soon was pronounced dead. Covid was ruled out and sudden death was the diagnosis with aetiology to be determined after an autopsy.
He was given the traditional rites of Chinese burial and rites were carried out. His last resting place would be the sea near the biggest city, where a solemn farewell reminded of those present the onslaught of the absence of the sweetness he had provided in his brief life.
Death comes unexpectedly, said Little Elk. But Maharajah had been calculating it well. His work had been done, he had provided what he could to the best of his ability and now he had to move on.
Two passages came to my mind. I had met the Maharajah on various occasions, the last time being a dinner at a Chinese restaurant with friends present.
Whoever read Herman Hesse’s The Journey to the East which at one time was a reading of rite of passage can forget the sentence: when we become aware of the loss of someone, our missing of them increases. Thus what they meant to us is enlarged.
Fernando Pessoa had written about someone who casually crossed his path on a regular basis, and only when he was absent he became aware of the immense presence that person was in his life.
I have experienced both to greater and smaller degree. I will never forget the tabac owner of the Place Amborix in Quartier European in Brussels where his grumpy voice grudgingly accepted the 25 centimes from the Little Poet for a candy. Only when the Tabac closed and grumpy old man with tobacco tingle fingers disappeared did I realise the importance of him in my life.
A retired artist, is he Cuban?, who regularly walks In front of my sister's house Miami, one day he is bald and the other day he is well clad, I have never said hello to him nor do I know his name, but if one day passes that I do not see him, I begin to wonder about him.
The Maharajah of SKB, was amidst us in disguise, clever, making us learn about love and affection and temporal nature of life. He just slipped away, as if he was going for an afternoon walk.
I was walking along the seawall of Havana. I had specially worn a tee shirt from Siem Reap in Cambodia with a painting of a friend of mine, Stef. My best friend was with me when I met the artist years ago and I had brought them two shirts with Stef’s paintings. The Maharajah sported one of them and he travelled to the other world wearing that tee shirt.
I have one such tee shirt, I put it on, on a nice day , just a few days after the departure of the Maharajah, as the red glow of the sun on the horizon sent caressing messages, I said my goodbye to the Maharajah and said the traditional prayer for the departed in the language of my ancestors.
Travel well Maharajah, your mother and Nanny are waiting with your favourite cake and drink …and as a doctor who studies metabolism, please go slow on the cakes !
And from your exalted position, close to the Spirits, take pity on your sister and brother in law and me too, and intercede on our behalf with the spirits, so that the three of us can commemorate your presence with us , continuing with our work of helping others with the same vigour you demanded of us.
Till all the people whose hearts you had touched are no more, you are alive in their hearts.
You achieved much in your short life, Maharajah of Seri Kembangan
I was profoundly impressed with selfless love shown to the Maharajah by his sister MunChing and her husband Fernando. Watching the relationship from near and far had a cleansing effect on me.
I thought to myself: Here are three HUMAN BEINGS at their best..
THANK YOU CHEE FONG, MUN CHING AND FERNANDO
